


you and me and in between

by Nazezdha321



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, I really love Huntingbird okay they deserve better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25760335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nazezdha321/pseuds/Nazezdha321
Summary: "Bobbi Morse is five and a half years old when she first feels the Bond.They say that because children only start forming long-term memories from ages four to seven, that’s when Bonds start to enter their minds. For some, it’s gradual, but for most, it’s almost like a slap in the face when they wake up and it’s there. Some children are terrified by what appears on their skin, and others are comforted by the fact that someone else out there can feel what they feel and still are betrayed, not necessarily by the Soulbond, but by their parents’ reactions to who is on the other side.It isn’t until the word 'hi' is written on her inner left wrist in black marker when she is ten years old that she worries less about what’s happening to her soulmate and more about who her soulmate is. "Or, a Huntingbird soulmate AU.
Relationships: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 26
Kudos: 42
Collections: AOS AU August 2020





	you and me and in between

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello, human beings, and welcome to Z Is So Done With This Challenge But We're Only Six Days In. Still not giving up, I'm a stubborn idiot, so fear not for the fate of my AUs ;)
> 
> Honestly, I think it's fitting that my 25th fic would be a combination of "what the fuck what I have I written this is so unlike me??" + "aww this is kinda cute maybe we should keep it." 
> 
> So without more of my bullshit: Day 6 of AOS AU August calls for a Soulmate AU and the lovely mossintheconcrete suggested one set in canon universe and I'm pretty much out of Philinda material after all the havoc I have wreaked in this fandom with that so far so here's some wholesome Huntingbird :)
> 
> Big thanks to aosficnet2 for hosting this challenge and to mossintheconcrete for your suggestion.
> 
> Enjoy <3

Bobbi Morse is five and a half years old when she first feels the Bond. 

They say that because children only start forming long-term memories from ages four to seven, that’s when Bonds start to enter their minds. For some, it’s gradual, but for most, it’s almost like a slap in the face when they wake up and it’s there. Some children are terrified by what appears on their skin, and others are comforted by the fact that someone else out there can feel what they feel and still are betrayed, not necessarily by the Soulbond, but by their parents’ reactions to who is on the other side. 

Bobbi’s mom, ever the scientist, tells her all of this and more on October 21, the day that she begins to feel the Soulbond, the day that bruises start appearing on her skin, bruises that certainly aren’t hers, the day that she starts being afraid for no reason, the day that she is so scared of something she can’t see - she’s never been so scared in her life. Her mom explains to her that no scientist has figured out what the Soulbond is, because it isn’t related to genetics or anything they’ve ever studied. Bobbi doesn’t mind not knowing. She loves mysteries - or rather, she loves solving them. 

Her father, on the other hand, is of the more poetic opinion on soulmates and their Bond. The reason that you can feel what you soulmate is feeling is because you share the same heart, he says. The reason that everything that is on their skin appears on yours is because you are one soul inhabiting two bodies. Bobbi hates that. She likes knowing that someone out there is meant for her, someone out there pretty much  _ has  _ to love her, or at least like her, but she doesn’t like sharing her soul with somebody else. She’s independent and she can do what she wants to,  _ all by herself,  _ thank you very much. 

It isn’t until the word  _ hi  _ is written on her inner left wrist in black marker when she is ten years old that she worries less about what’s happening to her soulmate and more about  _ who  _ her soulmate is. 

She grabs a blue marker - she loves blue - and writes as neatly as she can. 

_ Hi.  _

_ Hi. I’m Lance Hunter.  _

_ I’m Bobbi Morse - Bobbi’s short for Barbara. _

_ Barbara? _

_ Yeah. Don’t call me that.  _

_ Okay. I’ve been writing  _ hi  _ on my wrist for a few years. Why now? Are you a little kid? I really hope I’m not a pedophile. Did you just start getting the bruises? _

_ I’m ten, but your bruises started showing up when I was four. I didn’t think to look.  _

_ I’m eleven.  _

_ Why do you have so many bruises, Lance?  _

_ Running out of arm space. Left leg.  _

Bobbi glances at her left leg, and sure enough, words start appearing at her ankle. 

_ You still have that bruise on your shoulder?  _ He spells ‘bruise’ wrong, but Bobbi gets the message. 

_ Of course I do, you do too.  _

_ Sorry.  _

_ For?  _

_ The bruises.  _

_ It’s okay. My mom’s upset about it though.  _

_ Makes sense.  _

“Bobbi, time for dinner!” her mom calls from the kitchen, and Bobbi knows it’s time to go. 

_ It’s time for dinner, I have to go.  _

_ How can it possibly time for dinner, it’s nearly two in the morning! _ _  
  
_

Bobbi doesn’t notice the words as she slips on long socks and runs to the bathroom to wash off her arm. She doesn’t know if her parents will be mad about Lance talking with her, but she doesn’t want to stop if they are mad. She wants to know her soulmate, even if it means hiding him. 

“What’s with the socks?” Dad asks when she sits down at the tiny round table. They  _ are  _ neon green, to be fair, but they were the only ones long enough to cover everything Lance and Bobbi had scrawled and Bobbi hadn’t had time to wash it off. 

“I like them,” Bobbi replies simply, and that’s that. 

After her parents tuck her in that night, Bobbi sneaks to the door and shuts it, before grabbing her blue marker and a flashlight and hiding in her closet as she writes  _ are you awake Lance?  _

_ It’s four in the morning.  _

_ Not for me. If it’s so late, why are you up?  _

_ If it’s so early, love.  _

_ Ew, don’t call me that.  _

_ It’s a habit.  _

_ Still. Answer the question.  _

_ I’m up late (early, whatever) because I’m waiting for my mum to get home.  _

_ Mum?  _

_ Mother?  _

_ Why not mom?  _

_ No one in London uses ‘Mom,’ what are you, American?  _

_ Yes.  _

_ Really?  _

_ Explains the time difference.  _

_ You make a good point, Bob.  _

_ It’s Bobbi.  _

_ Didn’t fit on my leg. Why Bobbi, anyway? Why not Barb or Barbie or -  _

_ Barbie? Really?  _

_ What?  _

_ Don’t you pay attention? Barbie’s a doll.  _

_ And you don’t like that?  _ _  
  
_

_ Nope.  _

_ Well how about Bob, then?  _

_ Bobbi.  _

_ Bobby?  _

_ Why do you want to change my name so much?  _

_ I think it’s funny when you’re mad.  _

_ You haven’t even seen me mad.  _

_ You forget that I feel what you feel.  _

Bobbi pauses. To be fair to Lance, she did forget. But he’s being absolutely  _ infuriating  _ right now. 

_ Bobbi. B O B B I. Not y, not ie. Not Barbs, not Bob, not Barbie. Deal?  _

_ Sure. As long as you call me Hunter.  _

_ Why?  _

_ I don’t like Lance. Hunter’s my last name. It’ll be fitting when I enroll.  _

_ I’m going to be a scientist like my mom.  _

_ My mum left.  _

_ Well, you probably shouldn’t follow in her footsteps.  _

_ Thanks for making me laugh instead of saying you’re sorry.  _

It’s a long time of silence before Bobbi writes,  _ goodnight, Hunter.  _

_ Night, Bobbi.  _

\---

Hunter is five years old when he gets the news that his mother is dead. 

And for some insane reason, he’s mad about it. 

After everything his dad and his grandmother told him about her, he’s mad, and he’s also sad. He’s sad that he’ll never know her, sad that she’ll never know him, sad that she didn’t even want to. His dad brushes it off but Hunter sees him drink a little too much that night, and his grandmother sighs something about how she wishes that things could have been better, but Hunter is angry. 

He gets into his first fight when he’s eight, but he’s accustomed to taking punches by then. Fighting back is new to him. He’s just a scrawny kid in primary school, but so are the kids he hits. 

It’s that night that he first writes ‘hi.’ 

There isn’t a reply, but he writes the same word over and over every night for years on his ankles, his stomach, wherever. They’re tiny, but present. He figures his soulmate doesn’t care, but he keeps writing. It isn’t until he’s eleven when a reply appears. 

Barbara - she likes Bobbi, and he teases her for it - is a year younger than him. She lives in the United States. She asks why he’s up late. He lies and says that he’s waiting for his mother to get home. In truth, it’s because he can’t ever sleep at night, but he figures that he shouldn’t tell that to Bobbi. Her mum is already panicked about the bruises. He doesn’t want to worry her about the sleep problems too. 

As soon as she says she has to go, all of the marker ink disappears from his arm. She doesn’t bother to wash off the marks on their legs. Maybe she put socks on or something. 

The thing is, Hunter’s always hidden everything about his soulmate. 

His mum was his dad’s soulmate, after all, and she still left them, so soulmates are a touchy subject in the Hunter household. His grandmother never found her soulmate, and from what Hunter gathers, she never intends to. 

But Bobbi… 

For the first time in a long time, Hunter has someone who knows exactly what he’s feeling, even what he doesn’t want her to know. That’s a burden, sure, but it’s also a relief. It means she knows almost everything about him by now, everything that really matters, anyway, and if she’s still sticking around, Hunter figures that just talking with his soulmate can’t hurt. 

It’s a long road to trust for Lance Hunter, but Bobbi’s on the right path. 

\---

Bobbi is fourteen years old when the soulmate craze begins. 

Her parents say that it’s because everyone’s beginning high school, and the chances of meeting your soulmate have somewhat increased, and besides, everyone is starting to grasp the possibilities of dating, so why not date your soulmate? 

Bobbi’s too focused to date. 

Her GPA stays at a 3.9 (damn art class, if not for it, she’d have a 4.0) for all four years that she’s there. She takes as many advanced classes as she can, leads far too many clubs because leadership looks good on college applications, and joins the track team, because she’s a good runner. Despite her height, she hates basketball. 

She’s at a sleepover that her mother forced her to go to -  _ be a kid for once in a while, okay?  _ \- when all the girls start writing on their arms. 

“Aren’t you going to, Bobbi?” they ask, and Bobbi’s pretty good under pressure but peer pressure isn’t something she’s used to. 

_ Hey.  _

She writes on her left shoulder. She can’t bring herself to explain why she’s writing (“I’m at a sleepover” sounds ridiculous and not at all like the person she is, and besides, he’d call her ‘Barbie’ for all eternity just to annoy her) so she leaves it at that. 

_ Lower left leg, it hurts to write in this position.  _

_ Doesn’t hurt me.  _

_ Not an injury, love, just lack of flexibility.  _

One of the girls squeals at ‘love.’ “Bobbi! He’s so romantic!” 

“He’s British,” Bobbi says. “He’s been saying that since he was eleven. Possibly before.” 

She swears that about half of them swoon, and they practically tear off her socks to get to her left ankle, where Hunter’s written  _ What is it today?  _ He means  _ is there a problem  _ because he knows when she’s upset. 

_ More like tonight, but sure.  _ She doesn’t mention a problem. How can she? The girls are all staring at her leg, entranced. 

_ Morning.  _

_ Well… _

_ If it’s eight in the morning here, it’s midnight there, and that’s morning.  _

_ You’re an ass, you know that?  _

_ I’ve been told.  _

“I wish  _ my  _ soulmate was like him,” says one of them mournfully. 

“Me too,” the others agree. 

“You’re practically a married couple!” 

_ Would you like me to use my great powers to discern what you’re feeling, or -  _

_ I’m at a sleepover and apparently we’re practically a married couple,  _ is what Bobbi wants to write, but a part of her is hesitant. She settles on,  _ Powers? Really?  _

_ What else would you consider the majesty that is the Soulbond? And mind you, I don’t use the word ‘majesty’ lightly given that -  _

_ Yeah, I know, the Queen and all that.  _

_ You did not just say ‘the Queen and all that.’  _

_ Technically, I wrote it.  _

“Tell him you love him!” 

“Are you crazy?” Bobbi asks incredulously. She doesn’t know which one of these idiots said it, but she’s this close to calling a stomach ache and leaving. “We haven’t even met!”    
  


“You’ve known each other for pretty much your whole lives, though,” says the only redhead of the group. Bobbi doesn’t know her name, either. What the hell is she doing here with all of these girls she doesn’t know? 

“Well, so have you guys and your soulmates, but you aren’t writing ‘I love you’ on your legs,” Bobbi argues.

“But yours is  _ different _ ,” they whine. 

“Yeah, he’s an idiot kid who keeps getting into fights and leaving bruises all over my body.” A part of her knows that it’s true - but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t regret saying it. And she probably shouldn’t be calling him an idiot, given that he’s the only person in the world who can remember her Tom Cruise phase besides her parents. 

“Bobbi,” someone says reproachfully. “That’s your  _ soulmate. _ ” 

Weren’t they just dissing their soulmates a few minutes ago? 

_ Will you tell your mom I say hi?  _ Bobbi writes, hoping Hunter will get the message. She might not be a super spy, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t learn anything from  _ that  _ phase.

_ I will, and tell your mom for me. I have to go.  _

_ Bye.  _

_ Bye.  _

\---

_ Will you tell your mom I say hi?  _

Hunter is a little shocked. Bobbi knows his mum had died a long time ago, she knows that she left before that. He has never even spoken a word to his mother, much less introduced her to his soulmate. Why would Bobbi ask that of him? She’s one of the few people who knows - 

What if there were others who were with her? Others who didn’t know? 

_ I will, and tell your mom for me _ he begins to inscribe. Then he wonders: why? Why is Bobbi uncomfortable around these people? He figures that it is sort of like the sign she told him about when they were younger. She has a cousin, and when they used to have sleepovers, they would sneak around the house and eavesdrop on their parents. They used to have a sign, when checking that a place was clear of adults. When it wasn’t, they knocked once on the wall, softly enough that the other knew they had to go. There was a second, more urgent sign, if either of their parents were coming, but Hunter can’t remember what it was. 

This is the bloody super spy phase all over again, isn’t it? 

_ I will, and tell your mom for me. I have to go  _ he finishes. 

_ Bye.  _ Simple, straight, to the point. Nothing like her usual sarcastic remarks or occasional smiley faces. He definitely made the right choice. 

_ Bye.  _

Hunter sighs. He’s going to have to get an explanation from Bobbi later, but right now, he has to get ready for school. 

\---

_ Sorry about yesterday/this morning - take your pick  _ appears on the inside of his wrist in biology. At least she has good timing. Nothing interesting is ever going on in this class. 

_ It’s all right. I am curious what happened though.  _

_ Nothing. It’s stupid.  _

_ So was the super spy phase, but we got through that fine, didn’t we?  _

_ Oh, shut up.  _

_ Not saying a word, love.  _

_ Lance.  _

_ Amadeus Ravenclaw, if you would.  _

_ What?  _

_ The girl at the desk next to me - I’m in biology - is reading Harry Potter.  _

_ What’s with Amadeus?  _

_ Isn’t that a song?  _

_ Yeah, about Mozart.  _

_ The piano guy?  _

_ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, yeah.  _

_ His name was ‘Wolfgang’?  _

_ And you complain about Lance.  _

_ Who in their right mind names their child ‘Wolfgang’? That’s like naming your child - there isn’t a comparable name. That’s bloody insane! _

“Mr. Hunter? Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” asks his biology teacher. 

Hunter scrawls  _ wash everything off  _ while replying, “No, I’m grand.” 

A few of the kids laugh. 

“If you’d come show the class your arm,” she demands. 

Well, she’s not a fool. 

Praying that Bobbi has washed it off, Hunter walks to the front of the class and holds out his arm for their teacher. 

“Are these - biology notes?” she asks. 

“They are?” Hunter asks. The writing is smeared - she probably couldn’t wash it off in time- but the scrawl of notes that relate more to last year than they do this year is evident. If she couldn’t wash it off, she scrubbed it and replaced their conversation with biology notes. Brilliant. “They are.” 

“These are last year’s studies.” Of course - Bobbi’s fourteen, he’s fifteen. Damn. 

“At least I’m prepared.” 

“One year late.” 

“Better late than never?” 

She sighs and sends him back to his seat, and Hunter writes a quick  _ apology accepted  _ before pulling his sleeve over his wrist and trying to pay attention. 

\---

When she is eighteen, Bobbi can’t decide what college to go to. 

It’s crazy, really, because she’s lived her whole life to get into a good college, but now all the good colleges want her. And she really can’t decide which one she should go to. Bobbi doesn’t even know what to study - she dabbled in almost everything and was good at all of it (except art, but everyone has their weaknesses).

_ I enlisted, so I can’t help you with that.  _

_  
_ _ SAS, I know.  _

_ You aren’t supposed to know.  _

_ Lucky me.  _

_ Bob.  _

_ Damn it with the nicknames, Lance.  _

_ I’ve found that I don’t mind you calling me Lance if I get to call you Bob.  _

_ >:( _

_ What the hell is that? _

_ I’m not an artist. _

_ What the hell is it supposed to be? _

_ An angry face.  _

_ I thought it was a monkey having an aneurysm.  _

_ Hilarious.  _

_ I did! _

_ Running out of leg space.  _

_ Me too.  _

_ You’re on legs.  _

_ Mates are in the shower, love.  _

_ Fine.  _

_ \--- _

Hunter goes to the shared bathroom to wash off everything on his arms, and as he’s doing so, ink disappears from his legs, courtesy of Bobbi. They figured out this system a little while ago, where one of them washed everything off of their legs and the other washed their arms and since the words were no longer on one soulmate’s skin, they couldn’t be on the other. 

Now that Hunter lives on a base, it’s a little harder, but they talk as much as they can. 

“Hey, Hunter, you playing?” calls Taylor, a fellow squad member. 

“What’s the game?” Hunter asks, still trying to get their snappy exchange off of his arms. He has to talk to her about what kind of marker she used, it’s impossible to get this stuff off. 

“Cards, probably. What’re you doing in there?” 

“Soulmate and I had a conversation,” Hunter explains. 

“You could just give her your number like a normal person.” 

“We’re nostalgic,” he replies. 

As soon as everything’s off, he sees Bobbi’s words appear on the back of his hand.  _ Gotta go. Just - don’t die out there?  _

Hunter draws a smiley face beneath it and walks back to his bunk, where Taylor is. 

“‘Don’t die out there’?” he asks, seeing Hunter’s hand. 

He shrugs. “It’s a good reminder.” 

“No kidding. You ever met her?” 

“Bobbi? No, she’s American.” 

“New York or California?” 

“The States are a lot bigger than that, but she is from San Diego,” Hunter admits. 

Taylor laughs. 

  
“What about you?” Hunter inquires, grabbing his cards from his friend. 

“She lives in the same town I grew up in. We didn’t figure out that we were soulmates till we were sixteen, though.” 

“Idiot.” 

“This coming from the guy who has to be reminded not to die.” 

Hunter laughs and makes a mental note to tell Bobbi about this later. 

\---

Bobbi has a PhD in biology by the time she is twenty-five. On her birthday that year, she’s approached by a man with an eye patch and a long black trench coat, trailed by an orange cat. 

“Barbara Morse.” It isn’t a question. 

“It’s Bobbi. Who are you?” 

“Someone very interested in recruiting you.” 

“Recruiting me? For the army?” Bobbi asks. She’s heard enough tales about that from Hunter, and while she’s adventurous enough to appreciate them, she isn’t about to enlist. 

“For SHIELD.” 

\---

‘SAS-lieutenant-turned-mercenary isn’t exactly where you thought you’d be, is it?” asks the woman Hunter is working with on this op, Isabelle Hartley. She’s a SHIELD agent, the same organization that Bobbi works for, and Hunter is trying to hold himself back from asking if Izzy knows her. 

He shrugs. “Always knew I’d be in the SAS. Suppose the mercenary part should’ve been expected.” 

“Most mercenaries won’t work with SHIELD,” Izzy whispers as they walk through the dark sewer tunnels. It smells worse in here than it did in the bunks when Hunter was in the SAS, and that’s saying something. 

“Yeah, well, a girl I know vouched for you.” 

“Really?” 

Well, not exactly. But Izzy doesn’t need to know the details of that. “Yeah.” 

“I’d like to meet this girl someday,” she says. 

“So would I,” Hunter murmurs. 

The shooting starts, and the only thing Hunter can think about is Bobbi’s words on his hand as they always are:  _ don’t die out there.  _

\--- 

“Let me take you out for drinks, you can meet some friends,” Izzy says a few months later. 

“Sorry, Isabelle, SHIELD’s not my cup of tea.” 

“Thought someone vouched for it.” 

“She did - sort of - but that doesn’t mean I’m about to go join up,” Hunter replies. 

Izzy rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say join up, I said meet my friends. Just a few of us. You’ll  _ hate  _ Victoria - well, she’ll hate you - but I think you’ll get along fine with everyone else.” 

Hunter sighs. It’s free drinks and a bunch of SHIELD agents and maybe he can drop a hint about Bobbi, so why not? Besides, Izzy seems nice enough. If he gets in a drunken fight, she might back him up. 

“All right, but I hope you’ve got a designated driver, because taking me out for drinks means getting absolutely hammered.” 

Izzy grins. “Oh, you’ll definitely fit in.” 

\---

“Izzy says she’ll be here in a second,” Mack says. 

“She’s not bringing a friend, is she?” Maria asks. 

“Some mercenary,” Victoria confirms. 

Bobbi sighs. Izzy has interesting choices in friends. “Of course she is.” 

“Cheer up, he’s former SAS, so he can’t be that bad,” Mack assures her. 

“SAS?” Bobbi demands. SAS - Special Air Service, that’s where Hunter used to work. Maybe this guy knows something about him. 

“Yeah, why?” 

They’re all looking at her weirdly now. Bobbi bites her lip. “Nothing. Just - old friend was SAS.” 

This seems to be an acceptable answer. They’re all agents of a top secret government agency that fights abnormal threats - including people with superpowers - after all. Nothing can get much weirder. 

\---

“Guys, this is Lance Hunter,” Izzy says, slamming beer down on the table. Hunter glances around at her friends. One of them has brown hair with red streaks, and she looks like she hates him. She must be the Victoria that Izzy was talking about. There’s two other women - one of which is blonde, and she looks like she’s about to be sick - and a man, who Izzy has told him is a gentle giant type of person. 

“Mack,” says the guy, and he holds out a hand. Hunter shakes it. “That’s Victoria, Maria, and Bobbi.” 

He gestures to each of them in turn. 

Bobbi is the blonde. 

There’s butterflies in his stomach, and Hunter’s not sure if that’s his or his soulmate’s. Probably both. 

“Bobbi? Your name doesn’t happen to be Morse, does it?” he asks. 

She’s silent. 

Izzy glances between them. “You don’t know each other, do you?” 

Bobbi shakes her head. “Nope - you just looked really familiar. I’m Bobbi.” She holds out a hand and Hunter notices that it isn’t the one with  _ don’t die out there  _ written on it. 

He takes it. “I’m Hunter. Nice to meet you.” 

She smiles. “Nice to meet you too.” 


End file.
